I'm not all that great at the dating game and am not likely to ask you out on a date and I certainly won't be standing there with a pen waiting for your phone number. Usually, if I really dig someone… that across the room – "OMG, She's Hot" kinda way… um, yeah I'll be the one that won't be able to talk to hot girl – at all!
I will be staying well out of the way – not putting myself in the path of said "hot girl". I'm pretty sure if you were to poll the chicks I thought were all that – their impression of me would be that I was ignorant, aloof or kinda mean. It's amazing that I have ever even had a relationship – surprisingly quite a few die-hards have gotten through the force field!
And so it was…
In my early 20's, the object of my desire was a slim hipped, spiky haired butch girl whom I had never spoken to. I didn't even know her name but I was acutely aware of her every move in the club on a Saturday night. The kicker for me? She drove an old, beat up, pale yellow, pick-up truck… Sigh, be still my beating heart!! I was smitten.
Years earlier someone had bought me a copy of Tank Girl. Which is an Australian comic strip book – of a girl with a shaved head who wore army issue dog tags and big black boots. She lived with a renegade Kangaroo; they drank beer and toted automatic weapons to blow shit up with. I'm not a comic strip lover but this chick had major sex appeal… thus my no-name lovely became "Tank Girl".
Months and months went by – I was obsessed. I made my friends dance on the opposite side of the dance floor; I was never accidentally next to her at the bar or in the line for the bathroom. Frankly – there was no way I was ever going to put myself in a situation where we would have to exchange words, of any kind!
My best friend had the pep talk down to a science and she was on her personal mission to convince me I had to ask this girl out on a date. I had never asked anyone to go on a date before and it seemed like someone was asking me to climb Mount Everest in a poodle skirt & tank top – barefoot. I was adamant that on a scale of 1 to no fucking way… that was a definite "no fucking way".
Enter alcohol and peer pressure!
My BF, against my pleas and threats, found her way to strike up a conversation with Tank Girl while I died a thousand deaths on the other side of the club. I cursed her name as I watched how with great ease she chatted; laughed and struck up an acquaintance with the girl of my dreams. As if that wasn't bad enough she started waving at me and motioning for me to come over. I tried desperately to pretend I didn't know it was me she was "who hoo'ing" at, but that only lasted for so long. I eventually had to give in and join them… omg… please let the earth open and swallow me whole.
Amazingly "Tank Girl" was a normal person. She was friendly and apparently put her pants on, one leg at a time like everyone else. I was horrendously shy and didn't say much at all while my friend chatted up a storm for both of us. As Tank Girl walked away and the club began to shut down I was handed the wrath only a true friend can wield so succinctly.
Are you kidding me? You couldn't say anything? What have you been struck mute? I totally hooked you up and you blew it! You BETTER be going out there and asking her out – YES, YOU! I mean RIGHT NOW! Go, or I will never speak to you again! I mean it, ok I don't mean it but I am daring you to do it and if you don't, I will lose all respect for you…..
That did it. I decided that she was right; it was time to pony up. I walked out of the front door of the club on a mission. She was already in her pick-up truck… I knocked on the window…. Urgh, I shudder at the memory…. Down that window rolled and I believe I asked her to go to breakfast. Ok, Ok, I don't "believe" anything… I did… I fucking asked hot girl to go to the diner for breakfast. That was my version of asking her out on a date. So from totally mute to asking her to come eat with us… I'm sure she probably thought I was a fruitcake. Anyway, she said (drum roll please)… NO!
I was crushed.
I was mortified.
Life as I knew it, was over. Tank Girl had turned down my invitation. I know all the sane people in the world are thinking… Hmmmm, it was 2am – you didn't actually ask her on a date… it's not like you threw yourself in the truck bed and refused to get out unless she agreed to marry you…. All valid points…. It didn't make my humiliation any easier to bear.
The following week Tank Girl was at the club making out with some new girl. They were laughing and having a grand ole' time. In my humiliated paranoid state – of course I made it mean that they were laughing at my feeble attempt the week prior. The girls began dating and of course, now… I bumped into them everywhere!! At the park, the mall, the grocery store every pride/charity event and it was as if that night had never happened. We went right back into complete stranger mode, no "Hi", no eye contact, nothing!
The only residual effect of that night was that anytime I saw my pick-up truck driving beauty, I turned crimson and felt acutely embarrassed all over again. Time did not lesson the humiliation, in fact it compounded it. Obviously we all knew each other – since the local Lesbian community can fit on a postage stamp - so the fact that neither she nor her girlfriend acknowledged me led me to believe that they thought I was the village fool. In retrospect, I'm sure I didn't even register with them and if I did they probably thought I was ignorant, aloof or just plain mean (right?)!!!
I swore I would never again ask anyone out on a "date" and as I post this blog, that has yet to be proven wrong! Dramatic response to such a millisecond of an incident, I know! But, for whatever reason I couldn't get past it. Even today the magic 8 ball will tell you … it does not look promising… I'm just not gonna ask you to go out with me, ESPECIALLY if I actually like you!! Sorry, but you gotta do it or I have to resort to the tried and true method…. Bodyshots!
Only someone who knows you and "gets" you can understand how the smallest detail, the tiniest fragment of time can shape who you are. I can tell a story a hundred times and laugh at myself – inviting others to laugh alongside me. There are so few people who will know the true impact each "tall tale" may have had.
I met Foxy Brown at a cookout she was trying to throw. As I arrived – she was still trying to put the grill together. (If my memory – serves me correctly, I believe I may have taken over the project and to her amazement, this girly girl – threw it together in a New York minute). Foxy and I just "got" each other. We had crazy chemistry from the first day we met. We didn't acknowledge it and we didn't act on it. She lived in my house during her college years, we became confidantes. We blew in and out of each others lives for over a decade and the chemistry never faulted… true to our lesbian heritage… eventually we dated.
If you think chivalry is dead I must disagree. The most debonair, charming and chivalrous individual I have ever had the pleasure of meeting speaks with a Kentucky drawl, has a distinct blonde, floppy, boyish head of hair and calls the smallest State of the Union, Home. Undisputedly, Fox has a charm outmatched only by the pied piper himself. Men, women, gay or straight, old, young, single or partnered… all feel like the most important being on the planet when The Fox turns her attentions toward them. There is nothing our southern boy belle wouldn't do in the name of chivalry and has been known to land a Boeing 747 if that what it takes to get the girl. A passion for women as a species… Almost as if her calling in life is to make every woman she encounters feel great about themselves… she rarely misses her target.
Dating Ms. Fox, there is no possible way you could ever feel less than the sexiest woman alive in her company. If for some reason you are not getting the message, she is more than eager to assemble a group of complete strangers to agree and back up her point … That, indeed… you ARE the sexiest woman on the planet.
Sure, there are pro's and con's to dating longstanding friends but the great thing about having that kind of history is that you have an insight into the person, their idiosyncrasies, their stories and wounds.
My Tank Girl humiliation is an old staple in the story telling repertoire so the Fox had heard it more times than a dozen. She was well aware that every time I saw T.G. the humiliating moment standing outside her truck from almost 15 years earlier, would come back to me. Silly as it sounds, there was always a twinge… the fact that Tank Girl hadn't aged well… didn't help (well, maybe a little).
In more recent years, the sightings of her had been few and far between. Now we started to run into her every time we went out and at this point, I knew her name and had conversed with her, here and there. Occasionally she joined whatever group we were hanging with. It was fine and no-one could tell I experienced any discomfort in her presence. It was the same old thing, we would head home and I would proliferate… ugh, I was such a pathetic 20'something… I can't believe I was that ridiculous and wimpy!
In the name of chivalry and the girl, Fox declared… "I am going to heal this wound for you".
Almost the equivalent to landing a Boeing 747, I had no idea how she planned on doing this… but I believed her, kinda sorta.
Thinking no more about this grandiose sweeping statement we go about our lives.
The gift "years of friendship" gave us is that no-one can work a room like the Fox and I. Whether it be in Vegas, The Deep South or a random Kitchen near you… people will gravitate and all of a sudden the social wheels spring into action and that's when the party really starts! Foxy Brown is the master at including everyone, even the most reticent. We know each others cues, side by side or across a crowded room, it takes no more than a look and perhaps a gesture to put us on the same page.
Life always seems to change for me on Thursdays. For some reason – major events always fall on that day. One random Thursday, we find ourselves at the local Lesbian Gin Joint. Already installed at the bar was Tank Girl, minding her own business, drinking her beer. We said Hi, got our drinks and headed outside to join the throng of smokers. It didn't take long till we had the place buzzing. In rare form, we had a group fully engaged and entertained.
Part of the Foxy Brown show always includes how tortured she is by the sexiest woman alive. The name may change but the story remains the same. This display invokes a compassion and camaraderie among strangers who can relate to this poor confused creature – rubbing her head - as she tries to figure out if the girl is just playing hard to get or really never wants to see her again. Everyone has an opinion and it's not a potentially explosive subject like religion or politics… It works every time.
In the midst of her… I just don't understand women routine, T.G. comes out to smoke. Fox immediately draws her into the throng and the discussion. For this particular display, I am the object of torture. Fox, is building agreement from the group that indeed I am the sexiest woman on the planet, the only reason oceans have tides and the earth remains on its axis – is because I live and breath. How can she possibly pursue anyone else when I am this devastatingly gorgeous?
You will find me convincing the same group that she is completely crazy and should be committed to an institution, against her will.
I see the glance, I know the gesture and I hear the theme from every Western Showdown in history. I can feel something coming… Oh No… what is my favorite fictional character gonna do now?
She turns to Tank Girl.
"Did you ever have that one girl that was the rock concert? Not the rock song… not the bleeding heart love ballad… I'm talking the whole damn concert… You know, beach balls are flying… lighters are going… a whole football stadium singing at the top of their lungs…"
Tank Girl looks confused by the imagery presented. The Fox gestures towards me…
"Now, THIS girl is the original rock concert, the reason beach balls were invented. Sleeping with her is a life changing event. I would advise anyone to do it if they ever had the opportunity and anyone passing that up… Well, that would just be stupid".
In that moment my admiration for the mistress of spin, flies right off the chart. The guns have been drawn and the shots fired…I have to step in…
"Don't believe one word of it. She's insane; in fact I think she's on crack"
Amidst the parody that has got the whole group laughing, Tank Girl looks at me. She is sizing me up, renewed interest, as if someone just told her I was next in line for the Throne. She is evaluating these outrageous statements and in my mind – her inner voice is saying …
"Shit, did I turn that down?"
The Boeing 747 had been landed. No-one was hurt and everyone survived.
I'm still not all that great at the dating game and probably won't ask you out on a date but you may find me at the bar, asking tank girl if I can buy her a beer and not really caring if she says yes or no.
Cheers to Downtown Foxy Brown, her life of torture at the hands of some feminine seductress… it's your game babe and you play it well.
I will be staying well out of the way – not putting myself in the path of said "hot girl". I'm pretty sure if you were to poll the chicks I thought were all that – their impression of me would be that I was ignorant, aloof or kinda mean. It's amazing that I have ever even had a relationship – surprisingly quite a few die-hards have gotten through the force field!
And so it was…
In my early 20's, the object of my desire was a slim hipped, spiky haired butch girl whom I had never spoken to. I didn't even know her name but I was acutely aware of her every move in the club on a Saturday night. The kicker for me? She drove an old, beat up, pale yellow, pick-up truck… Sigh, be still my beating heart!! I was smitten.
Years earlier someone had bought me a copy of Tank Girl. Which is an Australian comic strip book – of a girl with a shaved head who wore army issue dog tags and big black boots. She lived with a renegade Kangaroo; they drank beer and toted automatic weapons to blow shit up with. I'm not a comic strip lover but this chick had major sex appeal… thus my no-name lovely became "Tank Girl".
Months and months went by – I was obsessed. I made my friends dance on the opposite side of the dance floor; I was never accidentally next to her at the bar or in the line for the bathroom. Frankly – there was no way I was ever going to put myself in a situation where we would have to exchange words, of any kind!
My best friend had the pep talk down to a science and she was on her personal mission to convince me I had to ask this girl out on a date. I had never asked anyone to go on a date before and it seemed like someone was asking me to climb Mount Everest in a poodle skirt & tank top – barefoot. I was adamant that on a scale of 1 to no fucking way… that was a definite "no fucking way".
Enter alcohol and peer pressure!
My BF, against my pleas and threats, found her way to strike up a conversation with Tank Girl while I died a thousand deaths on the other side of the club. I cursed her name as I watched how with great ease she chatted; laughed and struck up an acquaintance with the girl of my dreams. As if that wasn't bad enough she started waving at me and motioning for me to come over. I tried desperately to pretend I didn't know it was me she was "who hoo'ing" at, but that only lasted for so long. I eventually had to give in and join them… omg… please let the earth open and swallow me whole.
Amazingly "Tank Girl" was a normal person. She was friendly and apparently put her pants on, one leg at a time like everyone else. I was horrendously shy and didn't say much at all while my friend chatted up a storm for both of us. As Tank Girl walked away and the club began to shut down I was handed the wrath only a true friend can wield so succinctly.
Are you kidding me? You couldn't say anything? What have you been struck mute? I totally hooked you up and you blew it! You BETTER be going out there and asking her out – YES, YOU! I mean RIGHT NOW! Go, or I will never speak to you again! I mean it, ok I don't mean it but I am daring you to do it and if you don't, I will lose all respect for you…..
That did it. I decided that she was right; it was time to pony up. I walked out of the front door of the club on a mission. She was already in her pick-up truck… I knocked on the window…. Urgh, I shudder at the memory…. Down that window rolled and I believe I asked her to go to breakfast. Ok, Ok, I don't "believe" anything… I did… I fucking asked hot girl to go to the diner for breakfast. That was my version of asking her out on a date. So from totally mute to asking her to come eat with us… I'm sure she probably thought I was a fruitcake. Anyway, she said (drum roll please)… NO!
I was crushed.
I was mortified.
Life as I knew it, was over. Tank Girl had turned down my invitation. I know all the sane people in the world are thinking… Hmmmm, it was 2am – you didn't actually ask her on a date… it's not like you threw yourself in the truck bed and refused to get out unless she agreed to marry you…. All valid points…. It didn't make my humiliation any easier to bear.
The following week Tank Girl was at the club making out with some new girl. They were laughing and having a grand ole' time. In my humiliated paranoid state – of course I made it mean that they were laughing at my feeble attempt the week prior. The girls began dating and of course, now… I bumped into them everywhere!! At the park, the mall, the grocery store every pride/charity event and it was as if that night had never happened. We went right back into complete stranger mode, no "Hi", no eye contact, nothing!
The only residual effect of that night was that anytime I saw my pick-up truck driving beauty, I turned crimson and felt acutely embarrassed all over again. Time did not lesson the humiliation, in fact it compounded it. Obviously we all knew each other – since the local Lesbian community can fit on a postage stamp - so the fact that neither she nor her girlfriend acknowledged me led me to believe that they thought I was the village fool. In retrospect, I'm sure I didn't even register with them and if I did they probably thought I was ignorant, aloof or just plain mean (right?)!!!
I swore I would never again ask anyone out on a "date" and as I post this blog, that has yet to be proven wrong! Dramatic response to such a millisecond of an incident, I know! But, for whatever reason I couldn't get past it. Even today the magic 8 ball will tell you … it does not look promising… I'm just not gonna ask you to go out with me, ESPECIALLY if I actually like you!! Sorry, but you gotta do it or I have to resort to the tried and true method…. Bodyshots!
Only someone who knows you and "gets" you can understand how the smallest detail, the tiniest fragment of time can shape who you are. I can tell a story a hundred times and laugh at myself – inviting others to laugh alongside me. There are so few people who will know the true impact each "tall tale" may have had.
I met Foxy Brown at a cookout she was trying to throw. As I arrived – she was still trying to put the grill together. (If my memory – serves me correctly, I believe I may have taken over the project and to her amazement, this girly girl – threw it together in a New York minute). Foxy and I just "got" each other. We had crazy chemistry from the first day we met. We didn't acknowledge it and we didn't act on it. She lived in my house during her college years, we became confidantes. We blew in and out of each others lives for over a decade and the chemistry never faulted… true to our lesbian heritage… eventually we dated.
If you think chivalry is dead I must disagree. The most debonair, charming and chivalrous individual I have ever had the pleasure of meeting speaks with a Kentucky drawl, has a distinct blonde, floppy, boyish head of hair and calls the smallest State of the Union, Home. Undisputedly, Fox has a charm outmatched only by the pied piper himself. Men, women, gay or straight, old, young, single or partnered… all feel like the most important being on the planet when The Fox turns her attentions toward them. There is nothing our southern boy belle wouldn't do in the name of chivalry and has been known to land a Boeing 747 if that what it takes to get the girl. A passion for women as a species… Almost as if her calling in life is to make every woman she encounters feel great about themselves… she rarely misses her target.
Dating Ms. Fox, there is no possible way you could ever feel less than the sexiest woman alive in her company. If for some reason you are not getting the message, she is more than eager to assemble a group of complete strangers to agree and back up her point … That, indeed… you ARE the sexiest woman on the planet.
Sure, there are pro's and con's to dating longstanding friends but the great thing about having that kind of history is that you have an insight into the person, their idiosyncrasies, their stories and wounds.
My Tank Girl humiliation is an old staple in the story telling repertoire so the Fox had heard it more times than a dozen. She was well aware that every time I saw T.G. the humiliating moment standing outside her truck from almost 15 years earlier, would come back to me. Silly as it sounds, there was always a twinge… the fact that Tank Girl hadn't aged well… didn't help (well, maybe a little).
In more recent years, the sightings of her had been few and far between. Now we started to run into her every time we went out and at this point, I knew her name and had conversed with her, here and there. Occasionally she joined whatever group we were hanging with. It was fine and no-one could tell I experienced any discomfort in her presence. It was the same old thing, we would head home and I would proliferate… ugh, I was such a pathetic 20'something… I can't believe I was that ridiculous and wimpy!
In the name of chivalry and the girl, Fox declared… "I am going to heal this wound for you".
Almost the equivalent to landing a Boeing 747, I had no idea how she planned on doing this… but I believed her, kinda sorta.
Thinking no more about this grandiose sweeping statement we go about our lives.
The gift "years of friendship" gave us is that no-one can work a room like the Fox and I. Whether it be in Vegas, The Deep South or a random Kitchen near you… people will gravitate and all of a sudden the social wheels spring into action and that's when the party really starts! Foxy Brown is the master at including everyone, even the most reticent. We know each others cues, side by side or across a crowded room, it takes no more than a look and perhaps a gesture to put us on the same page.
Life always seems to change for me on Thursdays. For some reason – major events always fall on that day. One random Thursday, we find ourselves at the local Lesbian Gin Joint. Already installed at the bar was Tank Girl, minding her own business, drinking her beer. We said Hi, got our drinks and headed outside to join the throng of smokers. It didn't take long till we had the place buzzing. In rare form, we had a group fully engaged and entertained.
Part of the Foxy Brown show always includes how tortured she is by the sexiest woman alive. The name may change but the story remains the same. This display invokes a compassion and camaraderie among strangers who can relate to this poor confused creature – rubbing her head - as she tries to figure out if the girl is just playing hard to get or really never wants to see her again. Everyone has an opinion and it's not a potentially explosive subject like religion or politics… It works every time.
In the midst of her… I just don't understand women routine, T.G. comes out to smoke. Fox immediately draws her into the throng and the discussion. For this particular display, I am the object of torture. Fox, is building agreement from the group that indeed I am the sexiest woman on the planet, the only reason oceans have tides and the earth remains on its axis – is because I live and breath. How can she possibly pursue anyone else when I am this devastatingly gorgeous?
You will find me convincing the same group that she is completely crazy and should be committed to an institution, against her will.
I see the glance, I know the gesture and I hear the theme from every Western Showdown in history. I can feel something coming… Oh No… what is my favorite fictional character gonna do now?
She turns to Tank Girl.
"Did you ever have that one girl that was the rock concert? Not the rock song… not the bleeding heart love ballad… I'm talking the whole damn concert… You know, beach balls are flying… lighters are going… a whole football stadium singing at the top of their lungs…"
Tank Girl looks confused by the imagery presented. The Fox gestures towards me…
"Now, THIS girl is the original rock concert, the reason beach balls were invented. Sleeping with her is a life changing event. I would advise anyone to do it if they ever had the opportunity and anyone passing that up… Well, that would just be stupid".
In that moment my admiration for the mistress of spin, flies right off the chart. The guns have been drawn and the shots fired…I have to step in…
"Don't believe one word of it. She's insane; in fact I think she's on crack"
Amidst the parody that has got the whole group laughing, Tank Girl looks at me. She is sizing me up, renewed interest, as if someone just told her I was next in line for the Throne. She is evaluating these outrageous statements and in my mind – her inner voice is saying …
"Shit, did I turn that down?"
The Boeing 747 had been landed. No-one was hurt and everyone survived.
I'm still not all that great at the dating game and probably won't ask you out on a date but you may find me at the bar, asking tank girl if I can buy her a beer and not really caring if she says yes or no.
Cheers to Downtown Foxy Brown, her life of torture at the hands of some feminine seductress… it's your game babe and you play it well.
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